


Star Trek: Pluto

by Catoo



Category: Original Work, Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Aenar, Alternate Universe, Andorians, Bajorans, Cardassians, Deltans, Ferengi, Gay Character, Gen, Klingon, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Mental Health Issues, Multi, Muslim Character, Original Character(s), Social Commentary, The Future where Captain Nog is a thing, Trans Character, Vulcan, a lot of these tags will make sense Later™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-15 21:53:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catoo/pseuds/Catoo
Summary: Nog had noted several years back that the Federation may claim that everyone is equal but, in actuality, some races seemed more equal than others. This observation became fact in Nog’s mind after he was finally promoted to Captain and immediately transferred from an active job as a first officer to a wholly inconsequential desk job in San Francisco.A few weeks into the job, and he thought he would rip his own lobes off if he had to deal with one more stack of PADDs that was nearly as tall as he was. And, it seemed obvious that they would never give him a ship of his own. Nog told Jake about his suspicions but Jake seemed to think he would get a ship one way or another saying, “Even if they don’t hand you a ship then that’s no reason for you to sit back and take it. Just do what you’ve always done in the past - fight for what you want.”This is an original story set in the Star Trek universe and using canon characters like Nog and Jake as a jumping off point to explore a host of OCs and typical Star Trek plots. It was mostly inspired bythis postabout Captian Nog.





	1. Prologue: Success is Not Final

Nog walked around his new ship as it orbited above Earth in spacedock. His crew was not scheduled to beam aboard for several hours yet, but Nog had decided he wanted to tour his ship, the _Pluto,_ before anyone else would see it. It is a somewhat old, Nebula-class ship that had limped back to spacedock after a surprisingly weak attack from the Borg.  The ship’s previous crew had moved on to other assignments on other ships because the _Pluto_ had been so badly damaged that Starfleet had decided repairing it would be a lost cause. However, Nog had had other ideas.

 

Just as the _Pluto_ had limped back to port in early 2387, Nog had finally achieved one of his biggest dreams - he became a captain. He had to put every ounce of his being into his work with Starfleet to attain such a rank, but he succeeded in the end. And, surprisingly enough, he had become a captain at the mere age of thirty-three, in spite of all the setbacks and the prejudice he faced for being a Ferengi. Nog had noted several years back that the Federation may claim that everyone is equal but, in actuality, some races seemed more equal than others. This observation became fact in Nog’s mind after he was given his newest promotion. He had been transferred from an active job as first officer of a ship to a wholly inconsequential desk job in San Francisco.

 

A few weeks into the job, and he thought he would rip his own lobes off if he had to deal with one more stack of PADDs that was nearly as tall as he was. And, it seemed obvious that they would _never_ give him a ship of his own. Nog told Jake about his suspicions but Jake seemed to think he would get a ship one way or another saying, “Even if they don’t hand you a ship then that’s no reason for you to sit back and take it. Just do what you’ve always done in the past - fight for what you want.” It almost seemed like fate when the very next day a PADD about the _Pluto_ being decommissioned came across his desk. He looked over the all the details of how the ship was damaged and slowly came to the realization that he could fix it. It would be a tough job, but Nog was sure he could get the _Pluto_ in working order; he’d just need a team to help him so the ship could be ready sometime this century.

 

He ended up putting in a proposal for this plan and it was, surprisingly enough, approved. He asked for about thirty to forty engineers to help him on the project but when he beamed up to the ship to begin work . . . there were ten. Nog would have kicked and screamed but he decided to show Starfleet he could fix the ship even with only ten other people on the job. He wanted to prove he was just as good as anyone else in Starfleet, if not better. His whole team worked about a nine-hour shift each day but Nog always stayed behind to keep working as much as he could. Some nights he was so tired that he just slept in one of the crew quarters instead of beaming back down to Earth. Some night he fell asleep in the jefferies tube he had been working in. All he knew is that he had to get this ship, _his_ ship, up and running - at any cost.

 

Any cost, including Nog’s health. It was no secret to anyone who knew Nog that his left leg was biosynthetic because it had been lost during the siege of AR-558. Over the years he had gotten used to his leg and sometimes joked with friends and peers that he could reprogram it to be so strong that it could knock someone out with one blow. However, his leg not being a true part of his body became obvious even to people who merely saw him in passing as the repairs on the _Pluto_ were nearing completion. Towards the very end, Nog worked almost constantly and made an effort to just ignore how his leg was bothering him and made him walk with a limp most of the time. He was sure that he had no time at all to have anyone look at it, let alone fix it. It also did not help that he convinced himself it could just be the strain he had been putting on it that was leading it to malfunction. The rest of his body was just about as worn out to the point where he always kept a hypospray full of painkiller on him in those last weeks of repairing the ship.

 

In the end, the ship was in working order in nine months time, a whole two months earlier than Nog had estimated with his limited crew. Nog did not even break to celebrate. After all the diagnostic tests on the ship had all come back with results within working parameters, Nog beamed right down to Starfleet headquarters and told them he would like a crew as soon as they could arrange it - the sooner the better. Astoundingly, Nog received a personnel list within two weeks time. A week later his crew was set to start beaming aboard at 0900 hours on the coming Monday. Nog and Jake had come up to the ship and set up their quarters the Friday beforehand. Jake could not help but comment how it was “eerie” to be on a ship that was so empty. Nog just told him to take the next few days they had all alone to try and come up with some new story ideas.

 

And then Nog settled down in bed and slept for about two days straight. When he finally woke up it was about 0100 the day his crew was to start boarding. So he decided to freshen up and tour the entire ship before his crew arrived. His leg was no longer bothering him and he decided once and for all that it must have just been a strain of some kind. If it was anything else then he certainly did not have any time to get it fixed now that he was going to be the captain of his very own ship. When he finished his amble around the ship he went to his very own ready room and sorted through a few subspace messages he had received.

 

Rom, who was still the Grand Nagus, had actually sent him a message saying how proud he was that his very own son was a Starfleet captain with his own ship, no less. It was obvious to Nog that his father really meant what he said and the sentiment made him smile. He was still bitter about how Starfleet had marginalized him, but he realized that the struggle had made him stronger. And, without Starfleet, he would have been left as a waiter in his Uncle’s bar - waiting for Quark to die so Rom could have the bar and then waiting for his father to die so he could inherit it himself. He could have always tried to chase after the 75th Rule of Acquisition, but he knew he would have gone broke eventually and then crawled right back to Quark’s.

 

He was then startled by a sudden chime at his ready room’s door. A quick glance at the chronometer on his desk told him that no one was expected to come aboard for another two hours. He just decided that someone must have come early and said, “Come.”


	2. The Past Tells You Where to Start, Not Where to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet this whole rag-tag crew!

The visitor walked into her new captain’s ready room. He gave a bit of start when he saw her. She was a tall, Cardassian woman, with hair that fell to about the length of her angular jaw, but was combed back and away from her face. The captain glanced at her collar and saw three full pips, he stood up and walked closer to her, saying, “Commander Tohrne?”

 

She stood at rigid attention, replying, “Yes, sir. Commander Kasella Tohrne reporting for duty.”

 

He gave a nod of acknowledgment. Nog then smiled and held out his hand as a more relaxed gesture of greeting that he had picked up from years of being around humans. Kasella understood the gesture from her own time around humans, and firmly shook Nog’s hand. Looking up at her, the captain said, “It’s good to have you on board, commander.”

 

“It’s good to be aboard, captain. Are there any duties that need attending to before the rest of the crew arrives?”

 

Nog quickly answered, “No, the ship is totally ready for the crew. It would be appreciated if you would help the rest of the crew once they start beaming up to the ship. But, do what you may in the meantime.” He leans back on his desk, their height difference increased somewhat, before almost wondering aloud, “Off the record,” he grimaces minutely before continuing, “do you think I have a chance?”

 

Her eyebrow ridges raise incredulously before she quips, “A chance?”

 

He sighs a bit, “A chance of getting any respect from the crew without having to prove myself as an adept captain?”

 

She relaxes slightly where she stands, and thinks for a brief moment before finally answering, “I can’t speak for everyone that will arrive in the next few hours, but I think you’re already painfully aware of the prejudice against your people. I have to admit that even I had some reservations about serving under you when I was first given this assignment. However, knowing you must have had to fight to become a captain and even then, to get a ship, I have to say that I most likely could not ask for a better commanding officer in the entire fleet.” She looks down at him with the traditional emotion diluting mask of her people but, respect is apparent in the shallow, clear blue lakes of her eyes.

 

Nog smiles under her gaze, “Thank you, and I don’t think I could have asked for a better first officer.” He saw the overly polite smile rising on her face and then added, “I mean it. I was never very trusting of Cardassians but what you said was true and the fact you managed to endure Starfleet for so long and strive to be a commander means you’re invested, just like I am.” He chuckles a little bit, “Rule of Acquisition number sixty-two: The riskier the road, the greater the profit.”

 

She smiles with a bit of mirth, “I suppose you’ll expect me to quote some of the classic Cardassian authors to accompany your Rules. Would you prefer Preloc? Or perhaps one of the many repetitive epics would be more to your liking?”

 

He smirks and grunts out a little laugh before standing upright again to say, “I’ll try not to quote the Rules of Acquisition so much that you actually remember a few.”

 

She inclines her head, a Cardassian show of respect she would never shake, before putting in, “And I’ll try not to indoctrinate you with my Cardassian witticisms.”

 

“Why don’t you get settled in your quarters? I’ll take care of any other earlier arrivals while you unpack.” An easy smirk still rests on Nog’s disarmingly young face.

 

She gives a slight nod and agrees, “I think I will, captain.” She turns to leave, and just before she is completely out the door, she turns her head to remark, “It’s always good to know about new customers before they walk in your door.” She walks totally out of the room the moment her words pass from her lips, the ready room doors closing behind her while Nog is left with silent disbelief smeared all over his face.

 

He could not have asked for a better first officer - not out of the entire fleet.

 

. . .

 

Nog stood in the main transporter room on the _Pluto._ In actuality, there were two other transporters rooms on the ship that were just as big as the one Nog was currently abiding in, but they were not quite as up to date as the “main” transporter room. One way or another, the crew would find their way to him regardless of where they were transported to on the ship.

 

The captain did not have to wait long for the next crew member to arrive. She was a Ferengi about a decade younger than Nog and pretty enough to turn the heads of even those who consistently thought Ferengi to be the ugliest humanoids in the alpha quadrant. Nog smiled at her and walked over to the transport pad commenting, “It’s good to know I’ll have another capable Ferengi on my ship.”

 

She stood at attention long enough to say, “Lieutenant Ynneshka reporting for duty, sir.” But then she quickly leaned her face down to smile demurely at Nog and reply, “The most capable communications officer you might ever know, captain.”

 

He looked down with a smile before looking back up at her to add, “I don’t doubt it. After all, you can’t free a fish from water.” He gestured up to one of his lobes and stepped out of her way so she could walk off the transporter pad with her suitcase. Even on level ground, she was still a few inches taller than him.

 

“Rule of Acquisition 217,” she curtly observed.

 

“Yes. You can take your belongings to your new quarters and do whatever else you need to do, but I expect you and the rest of the crew to be at their stations by 1700.”

 

“Yes, sir.” He nodded to dismiss her and she left, the captain’s gaze focusing back on the transporter pad once the doors had closed behind her.

 

. . .

 

By 1200 the CMO had reported for duty, dropped off her belongings, and was taking stock of sickbay. Her deep brown eyes and artful, surgeon's hands, traced over all the different equipment and medications she had at her disposal. Just then, her accounting for materials was disturbed by the sound of the door behind her opening and the accompanying slight breeze blowing past her, characteristically Deltan, bald scalp. A tall Klingon with graying hair had walked into sickbay. “Dr. Zinaidia?” he asked with a gruff voice that seemed limp with no real anger or passion behind it.

 

“Yes?” she said as she turned to face him. Her eyes glanced over his body thinking he might be her first patient. It would not be a far leap of logic to assume there may be something medically wrong with the Klingon before her. He was rather skinny for someone of his race and his face appeared to be as heavily guarded as a Ferengi’s hoard of gold pressed latinum.

 

Instead of stating an illness, he came forward and announced, “I am Lieutenant Kahless reporting for duty. I will be serving as a nurse during this voyage.”

 

The doctor’s face wore some shock but then almost instantly faded into normal passivity when she acknowledged him by saying, “Well, I’m glad you’re here now. We have to sort out all of sickbay before the ship leaves spacedock.”

 

He did not show any anger towards her shock aside from a small twitch of his lips that momentarily brought his salt and pepper mustache closer to his nose. It is not every day that someone saw a Klingon of Kahless’ age working as a nurse, let alone holding the lowly rank of Lieutenant in Starfleet. This oddity was hardly lost on the man in question, but no one likes to be criticized silently or otherwise. Wanting to get on with his work he asked, with some impatience in his tone, “What can I do?”

 

Zinaidia thought for a moment, placing her hand on her chin then held out her hand with her face in an expression of eureka. She gestured to the beds in sickbay saying, “You can inspect and test the medical beds. Captain Nog assured me that they were in perfect working order, but I want to be sure. I don’t want to take any risks with people’s lives.”

 

He affirmingly grunts and verbally confirms her command by saying, “I will start right away, doctor.” He moves over to the medical beds, slowly testing them one by one via making them take his own life signs and readings. He may not have been at peak wellness, but if one bed’s readings were wildly different than all the others, it would be easy to tell which would need to be fixed.

 

Just as Kahless is testing the last medical bed and Zinaidia is accounting for the last bit of equipment, the doors to sickbay swish open again and a tall and very elegant Aenar of one of the relatively feminine genders of her species walks in. Against her hip, she holds a child that appears to be an Andorian and Aenar hybrid of about toddler age and an older child with the same lineage follows at his mother’s side. The younger child starts to play with the intricate braids in her mother’s long white hair when she announces, “I’m counselor Jhilla Zh’othaothal reporting for duty. I was told to report here because my office is connected to sickbay.”

 

“Of course, your office is right through that door,” the doctor says before pointing to a door at the far end of the room.

 

The counselor replied with a sincere, “Thank you.”

 

During this short back and forth the elder child strayed from his mother and was “looking” at Kahless. Just as his mother had his name on her lips to tell him to follow her he said, “Sh’vivok and I make Kahless very happy and sad because of the other Klingon. How can that be, zhavey?”

 

She walks over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, saying,”I will tell you later, Ch’rasrer. For now, I want you to know that it is not polite to talk about other people’s thoughts unless you have their permission to do so. I want you to apologize to Kahless and then come with me.”

 

He merely said, “Okay.” He tilted his head back up to face the massively tall Klingon and said, “I’m sorry I talked about your thoughts without your permission.”

 

Kahless just nods at first, still taken aback by the boy’s comment, and then says, “Try not to let it happen again.”

 

Zh’othaothal responds with, “It won’t, Lieutenant.” She pulls her children along into her office and Kahless stares after her with just a touch of worry and wonder eroding his stoney face.

 

. . .

 

At about 1600 hours a Bajoran Lieutenant Commander beamed aboard, the last of the ship’s crew to arrive. She quickly thanked the extremely tall and lanky Vulcan transporter operater and then walked as fast as she could to her quarters. She just came close enough to trigger the doors to open and then haphazardly threw her suitcases into the room before rushing off to the closest turbolift. She stepped into the turbolift and sharply commanded, “Bridge.” While being taken up and away from the various lower levels of the ship, she looked down at the ground and nervously bit her lower lip. There were heavy bags under her nebula-like hazel eyes. She then held her head up straight and quickly ran her hands over her dirty blonde hair to smooth out any inconsistencies as well as pull back any loose strands not caught in her tight bun.

 

Just as the turbolift stopped her right hand collided with her earring, it’s small crystal adornments making a tinkling noise as they moved against one another. This, and the lift ceasing to move upward made her freeze in place for several long seconds as she stared at the door in front of her. Before walking out she closed her eyes, took several long breaths, straightened her earring, had it been jostled slightly out of place by her hand, and then stepped forward through the doors and onto the bridge.

 

She looked around seeing that all the stations on the bridge were manned aside from tactical station situated above and behind the captain’s chair. She set her chin and walked down in front of where Nog was seated. She stood at attention in front of Captain Nog and said in an unwavering tone, “Lieutenant Commander Deeye Noara reporting for duty, sir.”

 

He nodded with a polite smile and said, “Welcome aboard, I’m glad to see you made it in time for our departure.”

 

She looked down to reply to the captain in some way but then she and Commander Tohrne, who sat on the captain’s right, locked eyes. It was apparent Noara had not perceived the first officer when she had first walked down to the lower level of the bridge. She had not even noticed the large, vibrantly clothed human sitting on the captain’s left. Noara’s face stayed impassive and resolute but horror seemed to flash behind her eyes. Kasella merely smiled up at her subordinate and said, “I’m also glad you were able to catch the ship before its departure. However, you might not want to make a habit out of close calls like this, Commander Deeye. It’d be a shame if you were to get left behind.”

 

Noara’s jaw tightened as she ground her teeth together. The histories of their peoples seemed to play out in their locked eyes with fire igniting in Noara’s eyes and her lip starting to curl up into a sneer. Her tone was smooth with some bite to it as she replied, “It _would_ be a shame, wouldn’t it?” A deep and ugly scowl spread over Noara’s face before the captain finally intervened.

 

Nog stood and said, “Commander Deeye, there’s no room for prejudice on the bridge. I know what the Cardassian people did to the Bajorans, but I should think Commander Tohrne has never personally hurt you. If you need to get off the bridge and take some time to cool off then go do that. But, if and when you come back, I don’t want you to behave this way toward her.” He looked down at Kasella to address her with, “And I certainly don’t think any more sly comments out of you are going to help matters.” He looked from Cardassian face to Bajoran face before asking the big question, “Is that clear?” Each woman nodded in confirmation that their orders were as clear as crystal. Nog then gave a small nod as well before sitting back down in his chair.

 

Commander Deeye turned to her captain and managed to coolly say, “I’ll take your offer of getting off the bridge for a short while.”

 

“A deal is a deal. You’re dismissed for the time being, commander.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” are her last words to the captain before she walks back up to the upper level of the bridge to get back onto the turbolift that had taken her to the bridge a few mere minutes ago. She faces the back of the lift, to keep her face concealed but then hears rapid footsteps coming up and into the turbolift with her. The door closes behind the tall, young, and dark-skinned newcomer. She looks over at him to see that he is wearing colorful civilian attire typical of humans but does not raise her head to look at his face. It is obvious from his unique clothing that he was the man that had been seated on Captain Nog’s left.

 

He looks down at her, offering a half smile and the vague words, “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

 

She pinches the bridge of her nose and makes a visible effort in controlling her breathing before asking in a smooth tone, “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, it’s hard thinking that you got away from your entire past only to realize you’re never really going to be able to forget it, right?”

 

She finally looks up at him, there’s some recognition of the human on her face and she just blurts out, “Do I know you?”

 

He simply shrugs and observes, “I don’t think we’ve met but I suppose I might be a familiar face.” When her brows furrow in confusion he quickly adds while putting a hand on his chest, “I’m Jake Sisko. My dad and I lived on Deep Space Nine around the time of the Dominion War. His name was Ben but, to your people, he was-”

 

Astonished realization quickly took over her expression and she cut him off with her words, “The Emissary to the Prophets.”

 

“Yeah, that’s my dad,” he seemed to only just then realized the turbolift they were in had yet to be given a command and asked her, “What deck are your quarter’s on?”

 

She had to think for a long moment before commanding the lift, “Deck eleven.” The lift moved them down through the ship at a steady pace.

 

Noara looked up at him with a question on her face that she could not quite seem to get out. Jake facilitated it by saying, “You’re wondering how I knew you wanted to get away from the past?” She hastily nodded and he then continued, “Well, I suppose I first got to know the look from seeing so many Bajorans day in and day out when I lived on Deep Space Nine. Then when I moved onto a ship when Nog got promoted and transferred I started to see the look pop up now and again even there on people who weren’t Bajoran. Even Nog looked that way sometimes when he was passed over for a promotion he deserved or heard other people on the crew talking behind his back.”

 

He chuckled a bit and put in, “Everyone seems to just completely forget he has those huge ears. I don’t know how anyone could miss them.” The comment even brought a slight smile to Noara’s face and Jake smiled back before going on, “But, it seemed like no matter where I went I would always see people that had the same sort of disappointed anger on their face every time their past confronted them . . . I even saw it in the mirror.”

 

His smile had dropped into an impassive line that stayed still for several long seconds before it started to move again with the elaboration, “I’ve lived with Starfleet, on one vessel or another, my entire life. My mom was killed in a Borg attack. When Nog joined Starfleet, of course I encouraged him because it was what he wanted. He wanted to be the first Ferengi Starfleet captain. And then he lost his leg, and then my dad died. I mean, I’m glad Nog is happy with his very own ship, but when he was transferred to a desk job in San Francisco after being promoted to captain . . . I was almost ecstatic. I just don’t want another person I love to die in the line of duty. He already put his health on the line when he was fixing up this ship. He was up here day and night for nine months. He was always working to the point where even his biosynthetic leg started to feel the ware . . .”

 

He makes a dismissing gesture with his hands as they reach the deck that has Noara’s quarters on it and reprimands himself, “Sorry, I’m making this about me. You should probably go see the ship’s counselor to get real help. I think her name is Jhilla Zh’othaothal. I'm probably a babbling mess compared to her.”

 

“It’s alright. I’m glad you wanted to make me feel better but, I think I will see her sometime.” Before exiting the turbolift she looks up into Jake’s dark eyes and says, “Some captains retire.”

 

The corner of his lip twitches up before he confirms, “Yeah . . .  _some._ ”

 

“Well . . . it was nice meeting you, Jake.”

 

“It was good meeting you too, try and get some rest,” he says finally as she leaves the lift.

 

"Maybe,” she throws out over her shoulder as she walks down the hall to her quarters. The lift doors close around Jake and he ascends back up toward the bridge - back to Nog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was worth mentioning as a side note, I wrote most of these first few chapters about two years ago. So, if they seem a bit different than my current style that's why. Also, because I thought this all up before the inception of Star Trek: Discovery, (still haven't gotten a chance to watch it, sadly) I was picturing this as if it were the next series in the franchise -- thus the title. 
> 
> I'm not arrogant enough to think my writing/ideas are up to snuff with canon Star Trek, but I'd like to believe my original work here isn't far from canon. I did try very hard in this piece to imitate the pacing, POV, and plot points common within the franchise. That is, while also expanding its inclusivity (which will become more apparent later on, I promise).


	3. Junior Who?

Captain Nog gave the crew roster one last quick glance to be sure that all of the  _ Pluto’s  _ assigned personnel were on board and accounted for. When he was satisfied with all of his crew being accounted for he walked back out onto the bridge from his ready room. All of the stations were manned except for the tactical one and Kasella was sitting in the chair on the right-hand side of his. The one to the left of the captain’s chair would remain unoccupied (aside from when Jake sat in it) until Nog could decide upon who would be most useful to him there. 

 

The captain sat down in his chair and turned to Kasella. “Everyone’s accounted for.” 

 

She looked up towards the tactical station to confirm her thought that Noara had yet to come back and then looked back down at the captain. “In my opinion, we should just leave spacedock without someone manning tactical. Never place friendship above profit.”

 

He snorted a bit with laughter before replying, “I never really liked rule twenty-one.” 

 

She nodded and added, “I myself find the rules that invalidate women to be offensive. And, while you know I  _ love  _ to talk about your culture’s philosophies, we can’t sit here talking and waiting forever. I can man tactical if the need should arise between now and Commander Deeye’s return to the bridge.” 

 

“Yes, I know.” He looked down at his hands, saying in a sober tone, “I would prefer to have Commander Deeye on the bridge with us but we need to leave soon. We have to show Starfleet that the ship and us are fit for duty so they might give us a  _ real _ mission.” He sighed a bit and then looked towards the helmsmen in front of him to issue the deciding command, “Ensing Braal, lay in a course to take us out of the solar system and give us enough space to test the ship’s warp capabilities.” 

 

“Aye, sir,” came the reply from a young Tellarite ensign as he pressed the buttons to execute his command.

 

The captain then called over to the communications station saying, “Lieutenant Ynneshka, hail Starfleet and ask them if we’re clear to leave spacedock.”

 

“Already done, Sir. We’re clear to leave at your command.” 

 

“Very good,” Nog quickly says as a smile revealing his sharpened teeth spreads across his face. He calls over to the Ensign Braal, “Engage.” 

 

“Aye, sir,” he cheerily replies. He pushes a few more buttons and the ship is slowly taken out of space dock and begins to move towards the edge of the solar system. 

 

. . .

 

Once the  _ Pluto  _ has passed its namesake Nog instructs the young tellarite, “Take the ship into warp, slowly increasing until we reach warp six.” The helmsman obliges with the many stars on the viewscreen shooting backward,  becoming lines of light rather than singular luminescent pinpricks. Nog’s face holds a slight smile but remains impassive otherwise. They were not out of the woods yet.

 

Once the ship works its way up to warp four Nog’s combadge chirps, “Engineering to Captain Nog.” 

 

Nog hits his badge and answers, “Captain Nog here, what seems to be the problem?” 

 

“We’re seeing a lot of fluctuations in readings from the warp core. And, it’s starting to-” her voice was cut off by a loud shattering noise and screams coming over the combadge. The entire ship was shaken by the incident in engineering.

 

The captain immediately commands, “Drop out of warp!” 

 

Ensign Braal rapidly types in every sequence he knows to stop the engines before saying in pure exasperation, “I can’t, the engines are unresponsive!”

 

. . .

 

On the lower decks of the ship, the siren for red alert blasts and most of the crew begin to scatter one way or another. They may not be screaming but they are all running like ants in a drowning nest. Everyone rushing to different stations or quarters and some shaking as if the reverberations from the incident in engineering are still passing through them physically as well as emotionally. In contrast, Jake calmly ghosts through the lower decks.

 

Having spent almost his entire life in space he is well aware of the best ways to survive some kind of ship disaster and how most of them only work in very specific cases. However, he and the majority of the crew did not know exactly what was going on. Therefore, Jake leisurely strolled through the corridors looking for anyone who was lost or might be injured. Jake was just a writer, not some Starfleet officer who knew how to work with some part of the ship or another. Looking for people in need was the only thing he could really do to help without potentially breaking the ship.

 

He walked past a door but then stopped. He backed up and then put his ear to the door. Cries traveled through the metal in the door and Jake’s eyebrows knitted together. He stood back from the door and punched an override code into the keypad to the right of it. The door opened and inside there were several children cowering and crying together under a table in the middle of the room. 

 

Jake slowly walked over to the table and the door swished closed behind him. He crouched down next to the table and ducked his head down to look at the kids. There was a human, a Bajoran, a Betazoid, and an Andorian. All of them were boys and none of them could have been older than eight years old. The youngest of the four seemed to be the Andorian boy and the eldest the Betazoid boy who was sitting closest to where Jake had crouched down. 

 

He quietly said, “Do you guys want to hear a story?”

 

All the boys looked at him. The Betazoid child wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand and said in a wavering tone, “Who are you? Why do you want to tell us a story when we’re going to die?” More sobs pass through his lips off the tail of mentioning their predicted doom.

 

“Well, my name is Jake. And, I like to tell stories - I’m a writer. Besides, I don’t think we’re going to die. I’ve been through this kind of thing a lot in my life and it usually works out just fine.” Jake has light and comforting smile on his face and tries to think of lucky breaks he has had in case the Betazoid boy would search his mind for reassurance. In reality, he had no clue how things would go and was quite worried -- at the same time he was just too jaded to think freaking out would do anything good for anyone. He had thought about what the end might be like a lot and had long ago decided he would go quietly into the night when the time came.

 

It was then the human boy who cried out, “But what if we  _ are  _ going to die!”

 

“Well, then wouldn’t you prefer to be listening to a nice story instead of crying before you die?” Jake searched their faces, his eyes darting from one young face to another. 

 

The little Andorian boy sniffled and wiped his eyes before softly pleading, “I want a story!” 

 

Jake nodded before asking, “What about the rest of you?” They all tried to dry their eyes as best they could and nodded or verbally confirmed that they wanted a story. Jake smiled a bit and fully sat down on the ground, crossing his legs in front of him. He leaned forward a bit and asked as though he was about to gossip with the four boys, “Would you like to hear a real story about the actual captain of this ship?”

 

The Bajoran boy wondered allowed, “You know the captain?”

 

Jake chuckled and said, “I should hope I know him. We’ve been best friends for seventeen years and married for over a decade now.” 

 

The human boy stuck out his tongue and exclaimed, “But he’s a Ferengi! How could you be married to a Ferengi?”

 

Jake smiled and casually fiddled with the gold-pressed latinum ring he was wearing while explaining, “The same way you can be friends with an Andorian or a Betazoid or a Bajoran. Not all the people of one species or another are bad or good. Most people hate Ferengi but I could name a few good ones off the top of my head. Anyway, would all of you like to hear the story of how Captain Nog got into Starfleet?” 

 

“I want to hear that story!” immediately shouted the Andorian boy. The other boys generally agreed it would probably be a good story and Jake smiled at the prospect of getting to tell them Nog’s story.

 

“This is a long story so get comfortable. It all started when my dad, who was a Starfleet commander then, was assigned to a space station called Deep Space Nine. I came along with him because I was only about fourteen at the time and . . .”

 

And the rest is history. 

 

. . .

 

Noara was in the mess hall, working on her second cup of coffee, when the ship shook all around her, causing her coffee to spill all over the front of her uniform. She sighed and started to take off her uniform jacket when the red alert siren screeched from above, cutting through all the chatter in the mess hall. Everyone hastily made their ways out of the mess hall and so did Noara. She went as fast as she could through the throng of people in the corridors, her soiled uniform jacket totally forgotten in the mess hall as she tried to get up to the bridge. 

 

Eventually, she managed to get into a turbolift heading up. She grimaced at how long it must have taken her to get this far. She swallowed back words that would command the turbolift to take her back down or stop. Determination lit her eyes with the burning intensity of a star. She would get on the bridge and she would do her duty. 

 

Once the turbolift reaches the bridge she walks right on out. Kasella is manning the tactical station. She does not look up when Noara comes onto the bridge, too busy trying to execute all the captain’s orders and give feedback from the console as fast as possible. Noara is not intimidated this time. She walks over to the tactical station with a sober expression on her face and starts to work beside Kasella to execute the orders Nog is giving. Kasella looks over at her once she notices the second pair of decidedly not reptilian hands working on the console. Very quickly, the Cardassian commander says, “I’m glad you’re back.” 

 

Noara responds in turn while still concentrating on pressing different buttons on the tactical station, “Glad to be back. Have any idea what happened?”

 

Kasella continues working in earnest as well, saying as an aside, “There was an incident in engineering. We have reason to believe the warp core is badly malfunctioning, possibly even has a breach. Engineering can’t be reached over the comm and the entire section is locked down because of the automatic security protocol.”

 

Noara sighs a bit, her expression grim. “Do you think we’ll-” She is cut off by the ship rocking violently back and forth accompanied by a loud crunching sound that resonates through the ship. Noara and Kasella are thrown back onto the floor together along with the rest of the bridge crew, Nog only just managing to stay in his seat through the sheer force of his grip on his chair. 

 

The whole ship seems to emit a long scream as it seems the ship is starting to be torn apart when a blinding flash suddenly encompasses the  _ Pluto. _

 

The entire crew all over the ship slowly rises from the places they fell in the tremendous shaking the ship experienced. Kasella and Noara get up slowly at first but then when Noara realizes how infinitesimally close they were due to being thrown together in the jostling, Noara stands very quickly. Her face then regains its former composure and she holds out her hand to help Kasella up. The first officer looks up at her with some wonder in her eyes and takes her hand, coming to her feet. She inclines her head to her subordinate officer to express her gratitude.

 

A moment later Ynneshka at the communications station is establishing contact with the many different parts of the ship. All of them are reporting as intact, even engineering. 

 

Nog clutches at his forehead and says with some impatience, “Status report.” 

 

Ynneshka speaks first, “All parts of the ship are reporting no damage. There are some casualties in engineering, but . . . there doesn’t seem to be any real problems that would have caused them injury.” 

 

Kasella confirms, “All systems appear to be functioning correctly.”

 

The Tellarite helmsman slowly picks himself up from the floor and taps at the helm controls to report, “The ship is on the same course as before.” He pauses, leaning his face closer to the console and reading the next bit of information several times over, disbelief carved into every line of his face. He finally adds, “Traveling at warp 9.5, sir.” 

 

Nog’s eyes snap wide open, his full attention on the helm. He stands and walks over to the helm console, looking over the ensign’s shoulder. Sure enough, the ship was supposedly going faster than it ever possibly could have. Nog sighs and clasps a hand over his forehead to massage it. He sarcastically says, “Now I know we’re dead.” 

 

“You’re not dead - you’re lucky,” says a lilting voice coming from behind Nog. The captain turns and there is a skinny, dark-haired, and dark-eyed human sitting in the captain’s chair. He also happened to be wearing command red.

 

“Who are you?” the captain requested with a bit of trepidation in his voice. 

 

The man smiled and stood, he towered over Nog. Looking down at the short captain, he merely said, “Some call me junior. But, I prefer just Q.” 

 

Nog sighed slightly, everyone knew about the Q Continuum since the beginning of their dealings with various Starfleet captains some years ago. 

 

Q Jr. smiled and merely said, “You owe me.” He then winked and flashed off the ship. Nog just sat back down in his chair. At least the  _ Pluto  _ was safe, and the  _ majority  _ of the crew were alive. 

 

“Lt. Ynneshka, broadcast a ship wide message. We’re going to have a diagnostic shakedown over the next few days. I want to know what happened today and I want to make sure it will never happen again. I’ll personally debrief the engineering survivors tomorrow morning. We can’t count on this Jr. Q character to save us at the drop of a hat, especially not when it’ll leave us indebted to an omnipotent and omnipresent being who could frankly rewrite us all with the snap of his fingers.”

 

“Understood, Captain. I’ll broadcast now and schedule reminder broadcasts throughout the shakedown.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

. . .

 

Sickbay had been being prepared from the second the  _ Pluto  _ had been shaken and red alert sounded. Even Zh’othaothal had helped to make sure everything was ready for any and all injured personnel while her children quietly waited in her office. 

 

However, it was not until the ship was sanctimoniously saved by Q Jr. that casualties started to be beamed into or walked to sickbay. Even the already, hopelessly, dead were beamed into sickbay in case there was some slim chance of revival. Zinaida meticulously ran dermal regenerators and administered hyposprays to the worst cases first and then worked down to those who had only sustained very slight injuries. 

 

Kahless mainly worked triage so the doctor could focus on treating all the injured who could be saved. He went from person to person, looking them over and sometimes gruffly saying, “Don’t be so scared. I’ve seen warriors more badly injured than you fight their way through a hundred men.” And after the urgency of each case was established, Kahless began to treat the minor injuries a smattering of the crew had received. Some had merely staggered in from one part of the ship or another with a broken arm, a bruise, or a sprain from falling down when the ship was violently jostled before Q Jr. had “saved the day.” 

 

Eventually, Kahless had worked his way to the smallest person with the smallest injury. Sh’vivok, the counselor’s youngest child, had scraped her knees. Kahless started to run the dermal regenerator over her scraps, looking down as he adeptly healed her. She sat still on the medical bed stared at him in a fashion only someone with aenar heritage could, her eyes being milky white with blindness, but her antenna’s psychic abilities greatly making up for her unseeing eyes. Kahless continued to look down at her knees and quietly said as he worked, “I can tell you’re staring at me.” 

 

“I know,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Kahless sighs with a slight inflection of annoyance and Sh’vivok seems to say in reply, “Thanks.” 

 

Kahless emits a deep chuckle and responds, “You really are telepathic. It’s a good trait but it might be dangerous if you aren’t careful with your words.”

 

“I know, that’s what zhavey always tells me and Ch’rasrer.”

 

Kahless finally finished fixing up her knees and put the dermal regenerator to the side. He looks up at her and says somberly, “She seems like a good mother and I should hope your other parents are just as good to you and your brother.” 

 

She looks him in the eyes and matter-of-factly states, “They’re dead. Only Ch’rasrer knew them because they died when zhavey was already pregnant with me. That’s why she went to Starfleet after I was born. She wanted to move on and there wasn’t a lot for her on Andor.” 

 

Kahless hums with affirming understanding. “That is very sad and unfortunate.” 

 

She quickly replies, “I know. What happened to you is sad too.” 

 

He gives her a dismayed glance, about to tell her to drop the topic, when her mother comes by. Zh’othaothal takes Sh’vivok into her arms and kisses her forehead. The loving mother then looks up at Kahless and says, “I hope she wasn’t any trouble. She can be a little monster sometimes.” The last words said in a lovingly joking tone that is only reinforced with her tender smile. 

 

Kahless cannot help but smile back down at the counselor and say with conviction, “She was perfectly well behaved. I’m almost glad there are no Klingon children on this ship because I’m more than sure they’d fight me half-way to Sto’Vo’Kor before I could even get them on a medical bed.” 

 

“I could only imagine how hard Klingon children might be to deal with. Did you ever have any children of your own?” 

 

Kahless tenses up ever so slightly, his posture becoming more erect and his face reverting to stone. He speaks in a careful and practiced tone, “It is a long story that you don’t want to hear right now.” 

 

Her smile stays on her face and she merely says, “Then tell it to me another day when we’re not busy. My door is always open.”

 

“Perhaps I will - one day.” 

 

“I would like to hear it, from one parent to another.” She adds with sincerity, “I love to listen. But for now,” she tilts her face back down toward her daughter, “I should be getting this one and her chi back to our quarters.”

 

“Of course.” His face bore slightly more than politeness he had picked up from the academy, “Have a good day.”

 

“You have a good day too.” Her face lingered leaned up toward his for a moment longer and then she looked down at her daughter and went to gather Ch’rasrer before saying goodbye to Dr. Zinaida and leaving sickbay. A while later Kahless and the doctor left as well, going back to their respective quarters for the next shift of medical officers to take over. 

 

. . .

 

Nog had been absentmindedly rubbing his biosynthetic leg as his shift on the bridge was coming to a close. His expression was as grim as the day’s events. The only thing that could have made that day worse is if they had all died. The turbolift doors swished open behind him and there was the sound of several footsteps coming down to the lower level of the bridge. A look of confusion crossed Nog’s face. One set of footsteps was (in Nog’s opinion) obviously belonging to Jake but the others were vastly different. The captain’s face slipped farther into confusion when standing in front of him was not only Jake but four little boys. 

 

Nog looked up at Jake about to ask what he was doing with a bunch of kids but then Jake waved his long arms toward Nog and the little boys were suddenly upon the captain with millions and billions of questions and declarations of admiration. The incredibly young Andorian boy seemed to be the most fervent when it came to telling Nog how great of an officer he was, sincerity and loyalty apparent in his voice. 

 

Nog smiled widely at the boys even though he was still at a loss. It was not until hearing the boys speak more and more about his accomplishments that he was totally sure that Jake had told them  _ a  _ story if not ten or twenty stories. He answered all their questions and thanked them for their praise but soon it was at least half an hour past the time his shift ended and he had to adeptly coerce the boys to go back to their parents because they could talk to him later and their parents were surely worried. A Bolian ensign who happened to be turning in a report offered to make sure the boys all got back to their quarters safely and with that, the boys left the bridge. 

 

Nog finally stood up and looked at Jake to tiredly say, “I have a pretty good guess how that just happened, but I don’t really care about the details. Although, I do sometimes wonder if you can actually read my mind.” 

 

Jake chuckled and assured him, “Nah, I’ve never had any kind of telepathic abilities. I just know you too well.” 

 

“And sometimes I don’t think I could live without you knowing me so well. Thanks, Jake - for bringing those kids up here and whatever else you probably did today.” He grinned up at the taller man and said, “Now, let’s get back to our quarters. I don’t know about you, but I could probably sleep for a century.” 

 

“Well, then let’s get going.” They started to walk up to the turbolift, Nog slightly lagging behind Jake. Jake suddenly turned back to him to threaten, “But don’t think you’re going to go to bed without having dinner first.”

 

Nog laughed loudly before accusing him, “Who are you? My moogie?” 

 

“Now, that would be pretty strange. But if you want I could put on a dress and huge earrings and yell at you to study your Rules of Acquisition.”

 

Nog rolled his eyes, still grinning like a madman as they finally walked into the turbolift. He holds onto Jake’s arm and looks up at him to more seriously ask, “Could you make fricasseed gree worms?” 

 

Jake smiles down at him and casually says, “Any time.” The turbolift doors swish closed around them and they plummet down into the ship, together and safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to think of these in terms of "episodes" I'd say chapters 1-3 could be considered a pilot episode. Consequently, I'd like whoever reads this to tell me if they like (or don't like) what they've read so far. I just want to gauge how many people are actually interested in this. 
> 
> I mean, I will probably keep updating this as much as I can but I'd just feel kind of silly carrying on this big giant project only for like five people to keep reading it or something. It can sometimes feel kind of crushing to work really hard on something only for it to mostly fall by the wayside. #overly sensitive writer issues


	4. The Gift of Gab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new month a new chapter! Lmao but I am going to try and turn these out a little faster if life doesn't get in the way of such plans . . . 
> 
> Readers could consider this the start of Episode Two of the "series" if so inclined.

The  _ Pluto  _ traveled through space at an easy warp six, the crew having finally received their first orders. Nog was seated on the bridge with Kasella on his right and Jake on his left, for the time being. Jake leaned on the arm of his chair, his body inclined towards Nog’s and asked, “So what’s the goal of this mission?”

 

The captain replied offhandedly, “We just have to check out some kind of electrical anomaly that’s been making its way through the alpha-quadrant.” 

 

“Well, that should be fun,” Jake said with a grin plastered across his face and some sarcasm in his tone.

 

Kasella piped in with, “You shouldn’t count on every mission being  _ fun _ .” There was a wry smile on her face as she looked over at Jake. 

 

The captain chuckled a bit, mirth in his eyes as he teased, “Yeah, you’ll have to come up with original stories instead of always borrowing from my experiences.” 

 

Jake shrugged and merely pointed out, “Hey, it’s not like anyone would want to hear about my life. I just sit around writing and cooking all day.” 

 

Nog rolled his eyes. “Maybe no one would want to hear about what you do from day to day but you still have good stories of your own to tell - you just have to write them already.”

 

“I guess so.” A devilish smile spreads on Jake’s face and he adds, “I think that I’ll start off with something based on that one time we went to Risa and you-”

 

Nog quickly cuts him off with, “I don’t think that would be a good idea . . . because not a lot of people would probably like  _ that  _ kind of story.” 

 

Jake chuckles and shrugs. “If you say so.” He stands and announces, “Anyway, I have a lot of writing and such to do.” He looks down at Nog and firmly says, “But I’ll be back for you later.” 

 

Nog chuckles a bit and replies, “I should hope you’ll be back for me. No one else in the universe makes beetle jambalaya like you do.”  

 

Jake says as an aside to Kasella, “No wonder people think he only keeps me around for my cooking.” Jake then winks at Nog and leaves the bridge. The captain smiles and shakes his head a bit before relaxing back in his chair. All is quiet. 

 

. . .

 

As they get closer to the electrical anomaly there are some minor problems. The crew in engineering report readings that, while they are not in any way dangerous, are very strange and sporadic to the point where it is obvious that the ship is functioning fine but the gages are out of order. Other parts of the ship experience malfunctions as well. Sickbay reports their tricorders are out of commision, all of the transporter rooms are unable to be powered up, and Ynnsheka has reported any subspace channels she opens are all getting more and more static filled and hard to distinguish. 

 

Soon enough Noara reports, “We’re in viewing range of the anomaly.”

 

“Put it on screen,” Nog says. The captain’s face is calm as he takes in the clear image of a pulsing electrical mass of blue, purple, and white. However, the screen soon starts to fade in and out, the captain’s face grows more and grimmer as the screen loses more and more clarity. Soon the image on the screen has been reduced to a pure snowstorm of vaguely blue and purple static. “Drop to impulse,” Nog commands and the helmsmen obey. 

 

Ynneshka reports, “Captain, we’ve lost almost all communications to outside and inside the ship. There are some faint subspace ghosts, but that’s about it.” 

 

Nog turns to Kasella and tells her, “Go down to where the science team is supposed to be launching the probe and see if they can do it from this distance. I don’t want to risk getting much closer” 

 

“Aye, sir,” she replies with a purely polite smile and goes over to the turbolift and down into the lower decks. 

 

. . .

 

Jake walked from his quarters and over to the observation deck. It was like any other day on this ship for him. He still did not know many of the members of the crew but tried to be friendly enough by waving to or greeting the people he passed. When the first few people that offered him a verbal greeting back did so in their native languages, he did not appear to be phased. It was not uncommon for people to occasionally override their universal translator to get a specific point across in their own language. However, Jake’s jovial grin slowly started to drop into a thin line and his brows knit together in concern after what must have been the tenth person to offer him a greeting, not in Federation Standard. 

 

Jake stopped in his tracks halfway to the observation deck as he started to notice that many of the crew who were trying to work together or even just carry a conversation no longer could. Jake was not at all a member of Starfleet but Nog insisted that he always wear combadge in case there was an emergency so Jake could contact someone or be contacted. Still, Jake had some qualms about wearing one such as it clashes with his clothing or the fear someone would mistake him for a crew member. As such, Jake chose to wear his combadge near the hem on the left sleeve of his shirt. In this position, it mimicked a wristwatch to some extent. 

 

Jake tapped his combadge with his right hand then held his wrist up to his face to call, “Jake Sisko to Captain Nog.” There was no response at all, just static. It was doubtful whether or not the Q Continuum would intervene again so Jake acted on impulse and walked to the closest turbolift that would take him to the bridge. Jake usually stayed off the bridge as much as he could because it was more likely he would get in the way than be of any help. but, this time, he let his emotions win out over his qualms about being a nuisance.

 

In the turbolift, Jake tapped his foot on the floor in a worried cadence and held his arms crossed in front of his chest. When he finally reached the bridge he almost ran out of the lift and down to the lower level of the bridge. Nog sat in his chair with Ynneshka sitting on his right where Kasella would usually sit and they were conferring in Ferengi with Ynneshka occasionally jotting things down on a PADD. Jake breathed a sigh of relief and sat down next to Nog. For once, he could be of some help. Obviously the universal translators where on the fritz and Jake was one of the very few people on the  _ Pluto  _ who fluently spoke Ferengi as well as Federation Standard. 

 

Once Nog finished his conversation with Ynneshka she rushed off to deliver several orders. The captain turned to his attention to Jake and said to him in thickly accented Federation Standard, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m terrible at Standard. And, I’m about to rip my lobes off with all these stupid electrical problems.” 

 

Jake jokingly replies in Ferengi, “Hey, don’t rip them off just yet. This will all pass. Besides, I like your lobes.” A devilish grin hangs on Jake’s face.

 

Nog half snorts, half laughs. He delivers a comeback in Ferengi, “I should hope you like them. Someone’s going to have to help me unwind after all this is sorted out.” 

 

Jake chuckles and merely puts in, “Well, what else are husbands good for?” 

 

He grins and quickly says, “Cooking.” Jake laughs uproariously and Nog starts to laugh in earnest not too.

 

. . .

 

Ynneshka was busily going about the ship, walking from one part to another to carry out her orders of handing down the captain’s orders to other crew members. She had already visited some of the other major parts of the ship such as engineering, the mess hall, and the largest cargo bay where the science team in charge of the probe had amassed. She was now on her way to one of the two somewhat outdated transporter rooms. It did not matter which one it exactly was so she had merely started toward the one that was the closest. 

 

She quickly walked into the transporter room, the doors swished open in front of her and then swished closed behind her. She looked over toward the transporter controls and saw a tall and lanky Vulcan with a black bowl-cut and a handsome roman nose. She walked closer to him, standing on the opposite side of the console, and looking up into his face. She quietly asked in Vulcan, “Is Vulcan fine? Or are you better with another language?”  

 

He looked a bit strained. He looked away from her and slowly replied in Vulcan, “Yes, this is . . . satisfactory.” 

 

She smiled and commented, “Good because I do need to speak Vulcan more often. But, your orders from Captain Nog are that you need to recalibrate the transporter so that it will be able to get  something through all this static. The science team needs to try to get the probe out into the middle of the electrical storm but almost all the mechanical parts of the ship are down because they’re all controlled electrically. They figured that one of the older transporters might be easier to work with because it doesn’t have some of the same safeguards.” 

 

He stands more rigidly than is normal for a Vulcan at the mention of having to recalibrate the transporter. He does not say anything for a moment and then speaks, “I will . . . d-do my best.” 

 

Ynneshka gazes up at him with a bit of curiosity in her eyes and softly says, “I’m sure you’re best will be more than good enough. You look like you’re a very bright man.” 

 

It almost seems like there is a very minuscule smile tugging at the corners of his lips and it takes him a moment to smoothly say, “Thank you.” 

 

“You’re welcome,” she says smiling from lobe to lobe and then starts to walk over to the door but stops before she is even close enough to activate the door. She turns to him and asks, “What’s your  name?”

 

“H-hes-hessas,” he quickly replies. An ever so softly sour expression quietly settles on his face after speaking it. 

 

She nods and quietly says, “And I’m Ynneshka. I might be back a little later, or maybe I’ll see you around.” She giggles a bit and adds, “When I see you again you’ll have to teach me your family name. So many people think they’re close to unpronounceable, but I like a challenge.” 

 

He slowly and smoothly responds, “Yes . . . I would . . . find that interesting.” 

 

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing you again sometime soon. Until then, live long and prosper, Hessas.” She smiles gives him the Vulcan salute with her hand.

 

He salutes her in return and repeats her words more slowly, “Live long . . . and prosper.” 

 

She then exits, the doors swishing in front of and then behind her. Once she is out of sight, Hesas looks down at the console for the transporter and starts to mentally compute and then execute his plan for recalibration. It is very minute, but he seems to have a slightly brighter light in his eyes. He also seems to conduct his body with a bit more flourish in his motions than is entirely necessary. He  _ will  _ get this transported in working condition. 

 

. . .

 

Ynneshka’s last destination was sickbay. The captain did not have any specific orders for them so much as he just wanted Ynneshka to make sure there were no dire cases and that the medical team was generally getting along to the best of their abilities. However, it soon became apparent that the medical team was not doing too well. The moment Ynneshka walked into sickbay she was greeted by the loud curses a Klingon was delivering to the malfunctioning medical equipment. Kahless was so caught up in telling all of the equipment how much of a petaQ it was that he had not even noticed there was someone else in sickbay aside from himself and Dr. Zinaidia who was being kept busy by the few patients there that were in her care.

 

Ynneshka rolled her eyes a bit and then yelled at Kahless in Klingon, “Shut up and do something productive! Yelling at machines isn’t going to make them work!”

 

He stopped mid curse at the sound of her words and turned around toward her. His face was guarded by some confusion and distrust and he looked back at Zinaidia with a question on his face and she did not say anything. The doctor merely looked on at Ynneshka, obviously surprised such a loud and commanding voice could come from such a small person. Kahless looked back at Ynneshka and asked in Klingon, “So it  _ was  _ you who said that?”

 

“Yes, of course. I realize that it’s strange for me to speak your language so well and with as much fervor as someone of your race but I am the communications officer and I had to learn it to graduate from the academy with a communications degree. It also helps that I love to speak this language even if it is too loud most of the time.”

 

He snorts and asks, “How could it be too loud?”

 

She merely gestures to one of her lobes and says, “There is a reason the 168th Rule of Acquisition is ‘Whisper your way to success.’” It is strange how almost all people who are not Ferengi or close with a Ferengi can forget that all Ferengi have very sensitive hearing. After all, their lobes are one of their most prominent physical features. 

 

He nods a bit and then verbally reinforces his motion with a distant sounding, “Of course.” 

 

“Anyway, Captain Nog wanted me to check and see how the patients and equipment are fairing. You’ve made it obvious the equipment is still down so what about the patients?” 

 

Kahless looks back at the two or three crew members they currently had in their care. He says with some hesitation, “I do not believe their conditions are serious. Dr. Zinaidia has been relieving their pain but without functioning instruments they can’t be healed.” 

 

“Very well.” Ynneshka thinks for a moment and then asks, “You were a warrior at one point, right?”

 

Kahless seems to do the opposite of what any other Klingon would do when asked such a question. He almost seems to slump down a bit more and offhandedly says, “Yes, what’s your point?” 

 

She merely replies, “Well, if I remember my Klingon Culture class correctly, then aren’t all warriors taught from a young age basic medical treatments that can be carried out with organic components found on the battlefield?” 

 

Kahless’ eyes are wide with the fact she knows such an esoteric thing and ever managed to remember it. “Yes . . . are you suggesting I try to cure them with some kind of homebrewed remedy?”

 

“It’s an idea that I think you could try. I know that you are limited because the replicators aren’t working for the most part, but even if it doesn’t work it’s still better than yelling at inanimate objects.” She punctuates her sentence with a slight shrug. 

 

Kahless just says, in an almost indignant fashion, “I will try it.” 

 

“Good, I wish you success.” 

 

“And success to you,” he automatically says before turning to start working on remedies of some sort. Ynneshka waves goodbye to the doctor and then leaves. Her rounds are finished and all she needs to do now is double back to the bridge and report to Captain Nog.

 

. . .

 

Once Ynneshka had hurried back to the bridge with all her collected information, Nog typed away on the PADD she had handed him. He gravely glanced at the battery icon on the PADD, all too aware that if they stayed near this anomaly any longer the whole ship may soon lose power due to lack of regeneration. 

 

He signed off on the orders and then handed the PADD back to the absolutely indispensable communications officer before him. “You did tell engineering to half power consumption for the time being?”

 

She took the PADD back from him, comfortably slipping it into the crook of her arm. “Yes, sir. Ensign Mahdi told me she would ‘never spend more for an acquisition than she had to.’”

 

He nodded. “The third rule, very apt. When we get out of this remind me to promote our chief engineer to something other than Ensign. For now, give everyone the orders I just wrote down. They mostly consist of how we’ll execute deploying the probe with all parties currently in position as they should be. Most of all, make sure the science team has recalibrated the probe to handle the effects this area has on electrical equipment. I’m sure they’re competent enough to have already done so but it’d be a horrendous oversight just in case.” 

 

“Yes, captain. Sir, if I might speak my mind for a moment?” She looked down at him, something indescribable in her light green eyes. 

 

He nodded. “Go ahead, you’ve earned what little time we have here.”

 

Her stance relaxed, she gently held her arms at her sides and she cleared her throat. “Whatever happens because of this mission or future missions, I’d just like to say I’m glad to have served with you in any capacity. You’re the most competent officer I’ve met. You’re a master of [the unwritten rule](Sjkdf%20sdfj%20s). And you’re the most open-minded person I’ve met since the day I left my for the academy.” 

 

“Thank you, but it’s hard not to improvise when I’ve faced so many hurdles and I’d be a hypocrite to not be open-minded given my entire life.” He sighed. 

 

“It also helps your father carried on the reform movement after grand nagus Zek.” Jake reached over and warmly held his husband's hand.

 

The Captain could not help but smile at his husband before again addressing Ynneshka, “Please go run those order by the crew, though. We can talk more on all this once at least this crisis is over.” 

 

“Very well, sir.” And she left the bridge once more, power walking at the speed of sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to memory-alpha, the unwritten Rule of Acquisition is, "When no appropriate rule applies, make one up."


End file.
